


In Your Warmth I Forget How Cold It Can Be

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blankets, Copious Amounts of Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snakes Don't Thermoregulate, The Author Abuses Parentheticals, that's all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 00:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20921228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Aziraphale knew snakes were cold-blooded. This wasn't special information—every person (or celestial being) with any basic knowledge of biology (or who had witnessed the initial putting together of reptiles in the first place) knew that. So, yes, Aziraphale knew, logically, that snakes were cold-blooded.Likewise, Aziraphale knew that Crowley was a snake. Now this, this was special information—in fact, Aziraphale was pretty sure that there were only two beings on earth who were privy to that particular bit of trivia. But just because someone isn't widely known doesn't mean it isn't true, and Crowley was most definitely a snake (if one that was rather good at hiding it).So. Aziraphale knew Crowley was a snake, and he knew snakes were cold-blooded, but there's quite a big difference between knowing and knowing.(You see where this is going. You follow.)





	In Your Warmth I Forget How Cold It Can Be

**Author's Note:**

> this is late but that's because i was on a bus until 2.30 this morning and didn't have the chance to upload so  
yikes

Aziraphale knew snakes were cold-blooded. This wasn't special information—every person (or celestial being) with any basic knowledge of biology (or who had witnessed the initial  _ putting together  _ of reptiles in the first place) knew that. So, yes, Aziraphale knew, logically, that snakes were cold-blooded.

Likewise, Aziraphale knew that Crowley was a snake. Now this, this  _ was  _ special information—in fact, Aziraphale was pretty sure that there were only two beings on earth who were privy to that particular bit of trivia. But just because someone isn't widely known doesn't mean it isn't true, and Crowley was most definitely a snake (if one that was rather good at hiding it).

So. Aziraphale knew Crowley was a snake, and he knew snakes were cold-blooded, but there's quite a big difference between knowing and  _ knowing _ .

(You see where this is going. You follow.)

**

"Are you sure you're alright, my dear?" Aziraphale asked as he gripped Crowley's hand tighter.

"Hm?" Crowley asked. "Oh, uh—sure, yeah, s'course, angel."

Aziraphale, frankly, didn't believe him.

Crowley had been acting strange that day, and Aziraphale didn't have the foggiest idea as to why. Things were, as far as Aziraphale could tell, fine. In fact, he'd go as far as to say things were going absolutely swimmingly.

They had, after 6,000 years, finally sorted out whatever  _ thing _ it was between them (the thing was love), and Aziraphale had been quite comfortably enjoying the results (the results were Crowley all but moving into the flat above the bookshop, a few  _ official  _ dates to the Ritz, and a great deal of kisses).

They were actually walking back from a (really rather lovely, if Aziraphale did say so himself) picnic when Crowley's pallid demeanor caught Aziraphale's attention.

Aziraphale glared at the demon. "Really, Crowley, you must think me an idiot."

"No, what? Of—psh, nah. D'worry, angel," Crowley stammered, but the chattering of his teeth and the almost blue tint to his skin said otherwise.

It was ironic, Aziraphale thought, that the instigator of original sin was himself a terrible liar.

(What was even more ironic was that an Angel of the Lord, a Member of the Most Divine Heavenly Host, was rather adept at the art of deceit—not that Azirphale would ever admit it.) 

(This itself was, as people say,  _ exhibit A _ .)

Aziraphale pressed his thumb against Crowley's wrist in a way that was by no means  _ discreet. _

Now, neither Aziraphale or Crowley  _ needed  _ a pulse, necessarily, but it was one of those features that come with the corporation, and it was a hassle to turn it off, so typically the both of them just  _ let it be _ .

So it  _ was  _ rather concerning when Azirphale felt  _ nothing  _ under Crowley's cold—dreadfully, awfully,  _ worryingly  _ cold—skin.

Something clicked, in both the literal and metaphorical sense, and in the next moment, the two of them were standing in the bookshop, each a bit wobbly on their feet in the way that was common with instantaneous teleportation.

"'Ziraphale, wha—" Crowley said. He was gripping the angel's arms like a vice and looked like he might pitch forward at any moment.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" Aziraphale muttered as he gently shoved Crowley down onto his usual couch. "Honestly, Crowley. Going out in that sort of weather. To be fair, it is partially my fault. I should've remembered—"

"What're you— _ angel _ —"

Aziraphale huffed and spun around from where he had been digging through one of his cupboards. He had a rather massive quilt in his hands. " _ Snakes don't thermoregulate, _ " he snapped.

"Oh. Yeah."

Aziraphale had heard the human saying,  _ if you roll your eyes like that they'll get stuck that way _ , but he'd never put much stock in it.

Now, as he swaddled the Serpent of Eden in one of the end products of the quilting club he'd joined in the 1930s, he thought he understood.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he murmured, pressing his hands to Crowley's face and neck. He was still unbearably cold. "What do you think would happen if you discorporated now, hm? I don't believe Hell is in the habit of giving bodies to traitorous demons. You'd be—you'd stuck down there, Crowley, and Someone only knows what they'd do to you, then."

Crowley didn't say anything in response, instead pushing his face further into Aziraphale's hands, his whole body tilting like a certain tower in Northern Italy.

(The last time Aziraphale had visited that particular tower, a young man had been dropping things from the top, and Aziraphale had nearly been hit.)

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said. He pressed a light kiss to Crowley’s forehead. “I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, darling.”

The sound Crowley made couldn’t accurately be described as words, but it could accurately be described as  _ not altogether too terribly pleased. _

Aziraphale hurried away, bustling up the stairs to his little kitchenette.

Cocoa typically takes about three-to-five minutes to make, depending upon the type one is making. This particular batch was done in twenty-three seconds, piled high with whipped cream and syrup and chocolate shaving and, most importantly, piping hot.

“Drink this, please,” the angel said, thrusting the steaming mug out towards Crowley.

Crowley blinked at him for a moment.

(At some point in this whole ordeal, he must’ve lost his glasses. Probably, they’d fallen off in the middle of their teleportation—but that was  _ hardly  _ Aziraphale’s fault, now, wasn’t it?)

(This is what people may call  _ exhibit B _ .)

“Really, Crowley, now’s  _ not _ the time to be difficult,” Aziraphale insisted.

Crowley just blinked again and wiggled a bit in his quilted cocoon.

Aziraphale sighed and placed the cocoa down for a moment as he worked to free Crowley’s arms from the blankets (there were a few more piled on than Aziraphale remembered piling, but that was hardly an issue).

Finally, once Crowley again had full use of his arms, Aziraphale pressed the cocoa back into the demon’s hands before curling up by his side on the sofa.

He wrapped his own arms around Crowley’s middle and rested his cheek against the demon’s neck.

“You really are a silly old serpent,” he whispered into the quiet of the bookshop, his voice the only other noise besides the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.

(The bookshop hadn’t actually  _ had  _ a fireplace until about ten minutes previous. Before then, the fireplace that had originally come with the old building had been converted into a bookshelf.)

Crowley didn’t reply, but Aziraphale could see the look in his eyes.

It was warm.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a fluff garbage can but please tell me your opinions anyway


End file.
